Not Alone
by Taintless
Summary: He’d held her in his arms that night, and whispered, "It's going to be alright, Granger. I promise. It'll all be okay."


He was her support. Without him, she would have fallen.

All the times she'd cried, he was there. Never saying anything, but staying with her, so she would be not alone.

They were as hostile as ever during the day but every night she would return to the place they were forced to share as Heads, and he would be there, silent and watching, as she'd sign, sit next to him and cry. She would never share her troubles; it was normally common knowledge anyway.

Potter had changed, cut himself off from his friends. He probably had some noble idea about keeping them safe. Draco thought it selfish of him; he must know the pain he was causing Granger. It was clear for everybody else.

When Potter had tried to kill himself, she'd cried all night. He'd caught her hand with his own and held it close. He possessed no other way to express himself, but it was always enough to know he was there.

When Weasley announced to her that he fancied her, she'd had to tell him that she didn't feel that way about him. Unsurprisingly, Weasley was cutting himself off from her now, whether out of embarrassment or anger he didn't know, and she never told him.

But now she had nobody. Her two boys had cut her off, just when she needed them most.

The first attack on her parents had made her quiet. She'd sat next to him for a long time, eyes dry, staring at the floor. He'd stayed up with her for most the night, before she'd finally left to her room.

The second attack had made her shudder and shake. He'd held her close that night, and felt her shiver at his touch. Her soft hair between his fingers made him tingle, and his school shirt was left soaking wet after her tears. He did not mind.

The third attack had left her raging. She'd screamed at Weasley to grow up for himself, that she was sorry but she only would ever think of him as a friend and lately she didn't even consider him that. She'd attacked Potter too, actually banging him on the chest with her small fists, telling him that he needed to be strong, that there was nothing else she could do if he wouldn't even have the common decency to talk to her. She'd turned on him too, as he'd sat with her in front of the fire, about what did he think he was doing, still being a git through the day, and her savoir by night, and who did he think he was, making her feel feelings she had no right to feel about the enemy? She'd ran to her room before the tears had come. The next night, she had quietly apologised to him, but never to her two actual friends. He hadn't even had to consider forgiving her; he hadn't minded. He had understood. Her real rage had been with life, with the people who had forsaken her, with Dumbledore who was too weak to protect them, to the God who she'd once believed in.

The fourth attack on her parents had nearly killed her. She'd never felt so lost in his life. She didn't just sit there with him that night, she'd talked to him, and told him all of the emotions that were haunting her, swishing around her head, not going away. He'd held her in his arms that night, and whispered, "It's going to be alright, Granger. I promise. It'll all be okay." Her parents had been severely damaged, but they were still alive.

Potter and Weasley wormed back into her life. He hated them but he knew it was for the best; Granger was like that, she needed her friends. She needed someone that still couldn't give up his smirking, insulting facade and treat her with decency in the day.

But she still needed him.

And he needed her.

She had saved him, even though he never told her of his struggle against his father. The fights with his mother about his beliefs, where she'd slap his face and cry herself to sleep at night, and his father would yell at her to get a grip, then turn to Draco with such disappointment and disgust on his face and tell him to get out of his sight.

He never told her that at Christmas, his mother had packed a pitiful bag for him and his father had told him to leave them alone, forever. He'd never told him that he'd only rebelled against his parents because he had realised that all Muggleborns weren't scum, that they could just as equal as Purebloods, that blood in the veins was one of the most unimportant things to see when really looking at a person, and that she _was_ better than him. He saw her as she was, smart, amazing and, although not stereotypical beautiful, pretty in her own subtle way. Natural, unlike so many girls he knew, unlike so many girls he'd been with, so many girls he had thought once attractive, when all he'd been looking for was a quick shag and a bit of a laugh and reputation.

He never told her any of this but, when he held her in his arms, she held him in hers, and he didn't fall.

She gave his life meaning again.

It was like they were two different people. In the day, he would insult her and she would challenge him. Even when they were alone in the day, they still put every disguise of hate. It wasn't all an act either; he felt no morose teasing her about her faults, even when he knew it was not true. She goaded him too, with a smirk almost reflecting his own, yelling at him that he was a coward, and that they all knew it.

But it was completely different later on, and, eventually, they both knew it would have to stop some day.

It did, then.

He had kissed her.

It hadn't meant to happen. One minute she'd just learned that her father was never going to wake up from the coma the Death Eaters had put him in, and the next she was in his arms, and it wasn't enough. He wanted to take the pain away; he needed to help her, to do something...

Softly, he'd kissed her.

It had blown his mind. It felt like he'd never kissed a girl before. And he hadn't, not like this. So gentle, so nurturing. This was not just a meeting of mouths, this was emotion and pain and beauty and togetherness... connection and softness.

It was short, and broken by more tears. There'd been no awkwardness after it, it had felt surprisingly natural, a natural progression, but it hadn't stopped her tears. They somehow found their way to the couch and sat together, her leaning against him, close.

"I'm so scared, Malfoy," she whispered, "I'm so, so scared. About everything."

He was scared as well. What would he do after Hogwarts graduation? What would he do? Where would he go? He knew nobody, really. He had enough money to keep him going but for how long? Graduation was creeping up on him, and would he ever see Granger again?

A life without Granger disturbed him somehow.

Would Potter ever conquer his fears and defeat the Dark Lord? It had to happen, right? That was what the prophecy said. But Potter was but a boy. He was brave, yes, and strong, but young and foolish. Potter wore his emotions on his sleeve and, although Dumbledore always said that it was Potter's greatest strength, it was also Voldemort's; he would exploit these. He already had, after all, and that was why Sirius was dead; that was why Potter was killing himself softly with his guilt and his suffocating responsibility.

He would have no friends. All the friends he possessed now were gaining new Dark Marks, and they would be wondering why he didn't have one. They would not accept him for much longer.

After Hogwarts, it would be presumed that, if you hadn't the Dark Mark, you were an enemy to their cause. His friends would be out to kill him. There would be no meetings for tea and biscuits.

All he had these days were late night meetings with Granger, and now what was going to happen?

He grasped on to her tight, as if afraid she was to disappear, and wondered.

She returned his squeeze, hands clutching his. He wondered whether she was thinking about the same thing.

He never wanted to let go, but he knew he would have to.

He knew she would leave go when he did, and it hurt him.

He hoped he would be okay when she did.

He hoped, perhaps even more, that she would be alright.

If Draco had believed in a God, he would have prayed to him for that.

* * *

_No one knows what it's like to be hated,  
__To be faded  
__To telling only lies..._

Please review and tell me whether you liked it or not. It is a one-shot. The quote is from "Behind Blue Eyes." Currently listening to Limp Bizkit's cover of it.

Love you all!


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